Poem: Nowhere Man

Poem: Nowhere Man

By Dr. Archan Mehta

Nobody knew his name.

He was the invisible man.

Nobody was curious about his game.

He never shot to fame

And lived alone.

He was often stoned

And, sometimes, dead drunk

And he cried in the

Middle of the night.

There was nobody

To wipe away his tears

Or offer to buy him a

Bottle of beer in the local bar.

He often left his door ajar,

Longing for company.

In his last days,

He often spoke of home

And, when he died,

He was deposited, like

Money in a bank, in

An unmarked grave:

Nobody attended his funeral.

Nobody spoke about him

Or even remembered him:

He turned into a

Statistic—faceless and nameless:

You know what?

It was almost as if

This blue-collar and

Working-class janitor

Never existed.

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